Marching Home
by dumbass abandoned account
Summary: Hospitals are expensive; Everyone knows that. Bolin's stay may end up costing an arm or a leg. TW for gore. Borra.


Leaves from the vine…

Healers rush into the room, not bothering to shut the door behind them. They are quick and Bolin is blinded by the pain of his wounds. Water benders descend upon him as men grab his arms and legs. The hands from an unseen person force a rag into his mouth and pull the ends back by his ears. Whoever does this stands behind him and Bolin cannot see their face.

Falling so slow

Bolin's heart races and his eyes shoot open. His brain is electric and thoughts fight one another for dominance to organize and become speech. His throat is raspy and the words are swallowed by the fabric that's been shoved between his teeth. His body is weak but, panicked, he begins to struggle under the weight of the arms that pin him down.

Like fragile tiny shells

He recognizes the healers as water benders from Republic city but is only familiar with one- Katara. Her face is grave as she barks orders to the other healers. She is the only familiar face in the room full of strangers. The healers are prepping his body. For what, Bolin doesn't know. Gentle but hurried hands bend water over his wounds, pulling out the dirt and grit and washing the blood away.

Drifting in the foam

A small, sheepish woman approaches him with a brush and a bucket. She dips the brush in the bucket and brings it to Bolin's left leg, where shattered pieces of bones shredded through his skin. She works carefully around them, but still he writhes in pain. Tears prickle in his eyes and he groans. She works as quickly as possible and soon finishes. Bolin is terrified for what is to come.

Little soldier boy

She leaves the room when she is done and Bolin looks around desperately, his head snapping back and forth, for some sign or answer for this treatment.

It seems like mere minutes ago he was in combat with an enemy chi blocker, and the next second a bomb is detonated. The last thing he remembered was a boulder flying through the air from the impact of the explosion and crashing into him, taking his legs out from under him.

Come marching home

He remembers familiar hands grasping him, yanking him up from the ground and pulling him onto Naga's saddle. Bolin can almost hear Mako's voice again, full of fear, encouraging Naga to go, to hurry, please Naga, go as fast as you can. He remembers Korra's wails of fright and can almost feel her shaking against him all over again as she does her best to stop the bleeding while Bolin slips in and out of consciousness. He can feel Asami's tears drop onto his forehead as she pats his face in an attempt to keep him awake. The whole incident passed by in a blur, like sand blowing across a desert. Now Bolin has no idea where he is, and no way of knowing where his friends are.

Brave soldier boy

He is jerked out of his thoughts by the chilling sound of metal scraping across the floor. Healers see his attempts to sit up and investigate the sound and the hands gagging him fly over his eyes to cover them, but it's too late. Bolin's already seen it.

The saw.

It's carried by two men that he's never seen before. When they come in, they are already covered in blood. The gravity of the situation settles into his stomach like a rock and the implications wash over him like an icy wave.

"Bolin..." Katara coos, "please relax... this will all be over soon, and then you can rest."

Bolin is sure he'd rather be dead.

He begins to thrash and guttural cries try to force their way out of his throat but are deafened by the gag. Healers who had been waiting for instruction are suddenly upon him, jabbing and punching his arms, leg, and torso, blocking his chi.

Bolin's eyes are slits and tears start spilling. He is unable to move and he can't cry out for mercy. The sounds churning in his throat keep coming, he keeps doing his best to scream, keeps trying to raise his arms, kick his legs, anything he can do to save himself.

The saw is raised above Bolin's injured leg by the broad shouldered men who brought it in and they stand on either side of his leg. A line is drawn in ink just above his mid thigh and the cold, slimy texture sends a shiver up his spine. Bolin's heart pounds painfully in his chest. The tension in the room is palpable and he gives Katara a silent plea for help, and

And the work begins immediately.

The sharp teeth of the saw rip through his skin and into the cords of muscle under it without warning, and Bolin, frozen in terror and immobilized, can only throw his head back in agony as the tears, fat and heavy and hot, stream down his face. His voice begins cracking from the strain of his screams.

He can't watch as the saw moves back and forth and by the time it hits bone, his screams and cries and muffled pleas to stop the torture fill the hospital.

* * *

Bolin's face is red and his eyes are swollen. It has taken all of the early morning to summon all the strength to sit up in his hospital bed. Movement had long since returned to his body, but he was so tired, so exhausted... his eyes slipped closed and he was asleep again.

* * *

Bolin is awoken by the sound of a vase crashing, followed by shouts and heavy footsteps.

"Hey!" someone shouts, "you can't go in there!"

"Let them through," Katara sighs. Bolin's eyes shoot open wide and panic sweeps over him.

He is washed in a wave of shame and he pulls the sheets up to his chest. Bolin's forehead is beaded with sweat and there is an obvious dip under the covers where his leg used to be, but he lacked the strength to make it less conspicuous. After all these hours apart, Bolin was going to greet his friends as a pathetic, broken man.

Korra and Mako fight to be the first to burst through the door and end up stumbling over each other. Asami treads quietly on small feet as she comes up behind them.

Bolin sits as still as he can. A knot has formed in his chest and his labored breathing is short. He shakes from the strain of keeping it together and hopes it isn't noticeable. He's too weak to cry. The three visitors stand around him, solemn and silent.

Bolin is covered in bruises. His eyes are swollen and he looks weak, his chest rising and falling almost invisibly. The sheet barely moves under him.

Korra is the first to move. With careful and deliberate steps she crosses the floor and sits on the bed beside Bolin, careful not to hurt him. He suppresses a wince. Korra reaches over and tenderly places her hand on his cheek.

She can't even say his name. Her voice cracks and the tears flow. She cannot stop herself from shaking. Bolin closes his eyes.

Mako is next. He stands at the end of the bed and forces himself to take the sight in slowly. He focuses on Bolin's closed eyes and lets his own travel down, to his brothers chest, to his waist, and then... Mako clenches his hands into fists and grits his teeth.

Finally, Asami approaches. She goes to the side of the bed opposite Korra and gingerly takes Bolin's hand, squeezing it in hers. With great difficulty, Bolin squeezes it back.

Korra's sons break the silence and she lays her head on Bolin's chest. She weeps. Bolin lifts his free hand and strokes her hair. He can almost swear he hears her whisper "I love you" but is unsure if it's just the beginning of a dream he slips into as he falls asleep again.

Korra takes Bolin's hand in hers as he settles into his wheelchair. After a week enough of his strength has returned and he is able to move, albeit very limited. Mako pushes the chair and Asami walks beside them. Nobody says goodbye as they leave the hospital. Nobody wants to break the somber silence.

Bolin is honored as a war hero in Republic City, though he feels useless. He cannot dress or feed himself. He is still too weak. Just sitting up in his chair is exhausting.

Bolin is ashamed. He mourns the loss of his leg and curses his negligence.

Korra blames herself. She cries for him at night and digs her nails into her own leg. It isn't fair. He lost his protecting her.

Despite the heartache, Korra is relieved that he is alive, and that her little soldier boy came marching home.


End file.
